Sex And The Single Load

Good points on the last post, AC. I'm just going to add a couple of points and then I'll stop bitching. People who have never had to deal with obesity just don't know how awful it is. They just don't understand that the "financial incentives" cooked up by insurance companies (obviously for added profit) are not going to help a single person to lose weight. There are countless other reasons to do so, and if they don't compel, nothing will. It's up to the individual, and it requires Herculean strength even after the decision to get in shape is made.

Last night I couldn't sleep, and I was thinking about this and that. I had just polished off a bottle of pinot grigio and was literally sitting in my closet with Toulouse (my cat) curled up in my lap, and reading Bertrand Russell's Why I Am Not A Christian. I was wearing my night shirt and had a Suzy Q in my breast pocket. In case you don't know, a Suzy Q is a delightful, mass produced confection made up of two pieces of cake with a strange, slightly oily "creme filling" in the middle. I couldn't quite focus on my reading since I was drunk (again, this is a rare thing for me) and fighting off an incredibly nasty, punctuated depression. It was that scary angst and melancholy that led to the bottle of wine in the first place. At around 2am, as I gently stroked my dear Toulouse, I opened up and starting eating my creamy delight (sounds like gay erotica). It was the mindless act of a drunk, fat man, as I wasn't hungry. But food has always been a comfort for me, although less so now that the surgery has made it impossible to binge. Suddenly, I got really mad at myself for turning to food. At 35, I thought, I should know better. A deep chasm of past experience opened up and I looked into it and didn't like what I saw. Violently, I smashed that Suzy Q against the wall of the closet. Some cream shot out and landed on Toulouse as I twisted a dark arc of cake across the wall. Then I made a fist and the remains smushed out between my fingers. The absurd spectacle and sudden violence amused me, and for once food did chase the blues away without me actually having to eat anything. I would have thought it a dream, but this morning I woke up and found what looked like a crime scene involving a piece of cake.

The point is, dear reader, to the extent that there is one is that people who struggle with obesity frequently have an eating disorder that is fueled by thoughts and emotions beneath the fatty surface. Insurance companies are not going to cause a single person to lose weight, nor will further stigmatizing obesity help anyone. I think of all the things I tried in my life to lose weight. When I was 17 I tried OptiFast, which was a program where you drank all your meals. I lost 100lbs, but gained it back. I could go on and on and on. Until I finally decided to have Roux-n-Y gastric bypass surgery, open surgery, a prodecure that is extremely painful and difficult to get used to. Not to mention the 1-2% of people who actually die from it. And even though I lost a lot of weight and kept it off, I'm still obese! And while most people are not obese, they do understand how difficult it is to lose weight, even 5 pounds. And yet that still doesn't stop people from vastly over-simplifying this illness, and even insulting those who suffer from it.

I mentioned the reasons that exist to lose weight, and there are so many. I can think of one off the bat which is more compelling than every other one put together: sex. I'm not just talking about the physical act of love, but sex appeal, as well. Yes, health is a reason to lose weight, but it's nothing compared to wanting to look sexy. Think of how people smoke and drive when they have a buzz from drinking, or do drugs, even though it is to the detriment to their health. When I was in high school and was obese, I cared about my health, yes. But that was a moon cast shadow in importance compared to my desire to look good naked, or in jeans. Hell, a lot of people take up smoking just to look sexy! So if my desire to get laid, or at least want women to want to fuck me, didn't turn me into a health fiend, what could? Most people at the gym have only a vague notion of getting into shape for their health. It's philosophical. The real pay off, however, is a tight ass and to leave a trail of swooning women (or men, or both).

If you think I'm being crass or simple-minded, just look at how sex is used to sell. They even have that saying...sex sells. The car you drive, the clothes you wear, and most of the products you consume are sold to you using a very simple pitch: this will make you desirable. It's primal. Yes, it's true that one doesn't have to be fit to get ass. I've had more ass than a toilet seat in my life...ok, maybe not, but I do like that saying. But I've always been pretty lucky when it come to tricking members of the opposite sex into thinking I'm worth the time of day...at least for one night. But it would have been so much easier if I weren't a fat fuck. And I love women, and sex, a whole hell of a lot. Sex, sex, sex. I lost my virginity when I was 14, to a girl in my middle school who was my age. She was a virgin, too, and I think I got more out of the experience than she did. After the deed, we held each other in a sweaty, post-coital embrace. I remember feeling a bit guilty for hurting her, but we talked and laughed and she put me at ease. As she drifted to sleep, her tiny body curled up next to my girth, I remember thinking, "I like this...I want to do this as much as possible."

After that, there was a long dry spell. A couple of sticky encounters in high school, once with a man, but nothing worth talking about. About the time that I joined the Socialist Party (age 17), I came to three conclusions about sex. One, I enjoy the company of women on a level that language cannot adequately explain. Certainly a thought common to those whose sexual tastes are for the fairer sex. I also realized that even beyond sex I just got along much better with women and they generally got along well with me. To this day, I just hit it off with women as friends with great ease and comfort. but that's another issue. Two, I have to lose weight if I'm going to get laid as often as I would like. And three, I'm an ass man. I later realized that even a woman's elbow or ear would drive me nuts, but the ass was just...wow. Anyway, I had to lose weight. Either that, or get to know my hand.

I thought that when I served as a delegate at a SP convention in Chicago, at 17, I would try some moves and get me some radical ass. Late one night, in someone's hotel room as a group of us got to know each other, I thought for sure I would hook up. It just didn't happen. I hit it off as a friend and comrade, but fat just isn't sexy. And that's what fueled my constant attempts at losing weight. When I used to work out every morning at the Boston YMCA, back when I worked the overnight shift at a hotel nearby, I would pass the mirror in the locker room and (if nobody was looking) would look at my naked body and ask the same question...would I fuck me? The answer? Perhaps after a few drinks...maybe.

College provided several one night stands, three relationships, and one love affair with a married woman (it felt so grown up...an actual affair!). So I think I did pretty well, and am oddly pressed to conclude that there logically must be something attractive about my personality, because my man boobs and gut weren't helping me bed women. A friend at UMass Boston, a beautiful actress with whom I had a serious crush (that I tried to hide, with varying degrees of success) was pretty frank about my plight. I can't remember what she said, but it amounted to, "Would you rather be an obnoxious misogynistic hunk or a fat guy who women liked?" I responded, "Why can't I be a hunk that women like?" I didn't realize it at the time, but it was a compliment. I just remember being fixated for days on how she openly called me "fat." I never courted her, but at least I didn't kill our friendship by pushing her for sex. I wonder where she is now.

But I digress. I'm allowed to do that since it's my fucking blog. As for the weight loss surgery, was that motivated by a desire to be more desirable? Definitely. On the surface, my doctor and surgeon and friends all talked about "quality of life" and, of course, better health. No doubt that was a motivating factor. Deep down, though, I looked forward to that magical moment when you walk into a new girls' bedroom.